


Nauk-Dempavion (Redemption)

by Nightmare_Shade



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 15th Member, Fix-It of Sorts, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idea Wouldn't Go Away, Muse Kicked Me Aside to Write, Orc Culture, Other, Sassy Orc, Tribal Orcs, Warg Ribbons, true story, what have I done?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmare_Shade/pseuds/Nightmare_Shade
Summary: "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." - GaladrielWhat happens when one of a countless horde wants something more? Orcs have only ever been known as the instruments of the Enemy, and yet there have been exceptions. Those that buck the yoke of their Master and hold contempt for the mindless slaughter they were bred to deliver.What happens when one stands against the countless horde for a race not her own?





	1. Chapter 1

Let it never be said that a wizard passed up an opportunity for knowledge. 

He was in Rivendell when the small group of Men were rushed through the gates by Elvin guards and Lord Elrond saw quickly to their comforts and to those with injuries, many sporting wounds obvious of an orc raiding party. Ancient eyes seeking Gandalf's own when both realized that there were far less wounded than there should be with so few soldiers in their number; not that this wasn't a thankful thing. No, Lord Elrond sent a quiet thanks to the Valar for it. Still, not a common occurrence for those set upon by orcs. Nor was the tight-lipped nature of those survivors common. All they would claim was that they were rescued and shown the way to the Elven city; none spoke of whom - even when pressed.

It was both curious and rather vexing.

Gandalf noted, most curiously, that a little girl stood clutching a strange looking doll. Not strange in that it was poorly made, it was clearly made to survive and endure. Well hewn leather was stitched smartly and rabbit fur was cleverly used for the furs a traveler might wear. It was the rather harsh features of a smiling orc drawn crudely on it's head that caught his eye. The girl, also, was almost unharmed but for a healing cut above her brow. Smeared in a ground up infusion of yarrow and goldenseal.

"Here now, that is a very pretty doll you have, little miss." His voice warm and his eyes kind as he crouched to look at the girl. The girl looked at him and hugged the doll in question even closer to her body, were it possible, as if to protect it. Pale green eyes suspicious of the soft spoken stranger. "Might you shift it some so I can see it's pretty smile?" 

The girl seemed to consider the request for a few moments, quite seriously. Brows scrunched up as she looked at him closely before gently turning the doll so that he might be able to see. "Well, I say...I've never seen an orc smile before. What do you think has it doing so?"

"Her, not it."

Gandalf blinked, but chuckled softly at the correction. "Her? Ah, I see now. Yes, yes. And the smile?" Tutting in amusement for the girl's sake.

"She said that so long as I kept her, that she would smile." Gentle hands shifted the doll again and smoothed back the stripe of black hair sewn into the head like a mohawk, causing it to drape to one side. Clever little fingers shifting the rabbit skin clothing as if to straighten the doll out.

Gandalf smiled and nodded his head. "Very wise, this doll maker. You know, of course, that your doll is an orc. Doesn't that frighten you?" Gandalf played it up a bit, now. Making his voice quiver a bit as though he himself was frightened. Lowering his voice some as if to hide his fear from others. The girl only reached out and patted his hand holding his staff as he still crouched to her level.

"Don't worry, I was scared too. If we ask her nicely, I think she would make you a doll. She made it for me so I wouldn't be afraid of her. She growls a lot, but really is a nice lady." Spoken with the wise innocence that only children could manage.

This gave the old wizard pause. An orc saved these people? And delivered them to Rivendell? Even going so far as to crafting a doll to ensure a child wasn't afraid? These were not the actions of an orc, least none that he had heard of. "What was her name? Did she tell you?"

"Mazoga."

\- - -

Mazoga was not a creature meant for drawn out goodbyes. Still, the girl, Aela, had clung to her leg like a leech before Mazoga herself had to pry her free and send her running off to join the others of her kind. She wouldn't be missing the constant babbling of the little limpet while Mazoga brought food for them all to prepare for provisions on this last leg of the journey. 

She would not. Not even a little.

The she-orc stood on the rise. A proud looking female of her race. Standing near six foot, hair long and black and braided tightly along the sides of her head and back from her face. Most of her hair in braids that kept better for combat. Her skin the color of rich moss, lower tusks peeked out from the corners of her mouth - reminding the world that she was inhuman if the pierced and pointed ears did not. Thick furs along her shoulders and clasped around her torso with buckles across her chest.

There was no mistaking she was female. While her body was far more muscled than that of men or elves or even dwarves, her breasts were full and her hips wide. Only made more apparent by the monstrous belt she wore. A thick leather with woven plates into it, protecting her softer midsection in a fray. Most of her armor was leather, though some steel and iron could be found along her hands and forearms. Along her thighs and shins and capping the thick boots she wore.

A proud looking female, certainly. Also a deadly one. 

At her hip hung twin axes and a sword taken from a Rohirrum. The bow and quiver lashed to her warg's harness straps and a spear held lightly in her hands.

Turning to look at her warg, Bralfot. He was larger than most, though not the size of the Matriarch of Gundabad. His fur was a melding of black and deeply rich brown. Even some gray and white along his shoulders making for a strange brindling - markings of his line. His harness was her saddle. A series of leather straps along his frame that allowed her to grip without hindering his movements. Many orcs forced their wargs to saddle but not her. She wanted her proud friend free to move as he needed to.

Mazoga eyed the yellow ribbons braided along the thicker fur around his neck and chest. Mazoga just grinned and shook her head. <<"Least I wasn't the only one whelped by the girl.">> The warg just made a huffing noise and turned it's head away. Looking very much like he was affronted and charmed by the ribbons at the same time.

The orc merely let out a sound that was more like gravel skidding down a rocky hill. Aela and those few people with her were some of the few that would recognize it as the sound of orcish laughter. It had come more easily with the girl sitting around the campfire she would build nightly.

Still, no human child deserved to keep company with an orc. Better that she was with her own or with the elves. They would see after her better than she could. Pulling herself up onto Bralfot's back from the warg's left and settling there with an easy, familiar grace. Giving no reprimand when they hesitated on the rise for a few moments to look out towards where Rivendell would be nestled in safety.

Neither ventured closer than they were to watch over the last moments of the flock of Men. Knowing well that elves harbored no love for her kind. Least of all these elves.

\- - - 

It took a few days, but Gandalf and Elrond had gotten the truth of the story from the people of the rescued caravan. The story they told confirmed Gandalf's own suspicions of this she-orc, Mazoga. 

Merchants often traveled these routes and this caravan was no different. Travelling to Rohan to offer wares and service before returning home after several months with goods from the Horse Lords' people. They had journeyed for weeks before orcs befell them. A small raiding party, but the caravan had only a few warriors among their numbers and those had fallen quickly to orc iron and arrows. 

All seemed lost when a spear seemed to appear from one of the orcs' backs, the orc had struck a small girl child - the beast's hands still wet from the blood of the man who had been trying to protect her. A roar to challenge and the orcs had tried to rally, in vain. Many described the battle as fierce and fast. The warg and rider moved as one unit, even after the orc dismounted. They had, naturally, feared that their fate was simply now in the hands of another when Mazoga had gently lifted the newly isolated girl and set her on one of the wagons and tended to a cut above her eye. 

They were too afraid to resist her patching them up and in Westron, bade them follow. Spoke of Rivendell and their elves and safety. It had been too dangerous to hope in those nervous moments. They were two weeks out from the friendly borders but the orc said she would see them cross safely. The orc had lead and they followed while she toiled with leather from the back of the warg. Before pressing the doll into the girl's arms.

All spoke of how she hunted for them, made certain that each ate, made sure they had fire and never slept so that she could keep watch, save an hour or two snatched in the noon hours while they ate. In those strange days, they found a rare creature that none thought could exist - an honorable orc. The girl had never left her side. Even clutching the orc's hand and riding the warg who seemed just as taken with the tiny human. Even laying down while the girl tugged at fur to braid.

When they had come to the borders of the elven lands, Mazoga had refused to lead them any closer. Said that she was not welcome to a place like Rivendell and would only cause them, now refugees, trouble when they'd seen enough of it.

The story now told, Gandalf and Elrond sought the Elf Lord's private study with glasses of wine between them. "I do not think I could believe such a tale were it not repeated by so many. Mithrandir, an orc saved these people and for no reason that I can fathom." Elrond, who did love a puzzle, found himself hesitant to try at this one presented him. 

"It could mean many things to have one of the dark kin turn their back on their master." Gandalf said softly, almost appearing to be thinking out loud. Elrond paused in lifting his cup to consider the familiar far-away expression on Mithrandir's face. It meant that the old wizard was considering his options and paths. 

"Mithrandir..." A tone to beg caution as the wizard pulled himself up some.

"Do not deny, Lord Elrond. All we know of orcs is that they are bloodthirsty and bent to the will of one whose name I'll not repeat here. If one has broken that heavy rule? Indeed, not only that but risked harm to themselves in order to see a weaker people to your safe borders and then respect those borders by staying away?" A bushy eyebrow raised to try to get the elf to see the truth of his words and answer the questions posed.

"Do not forget the horrors that orcs have laid at my feet, Mithrandir." The voice lashed out, but the crack of it was lined with grief. All in Imladris knew. All knew why Elladan and Elrohir hunted orcs and goblins with little thoughts of simply ridding the land of them. Gandalf bowed his head in acknowledgement of what had befell the gentle Celebrian, though he spoke no further in this regard to try and spare his oldest friend's memories.

Lord Elrond stood and looked over the peaceful spires of his home. Listening to the fall of water over the rocks and clever architecture and allowing that peaceful din cloak him like the comforting weight of a favored blanket or cloak. "Yet, I am not blind to your own wishes, old friend. Your horse will be made ready in the morning and you will have supplies. I know you have wish to travel to Bree. You will find him there." Elrond turned to look at the sheepishly expression on the wizard's face and gave a wry smile.

"I know not why you seek the Exiled King, but you will find him there."

With that, the Lord of Imladris turned and exited the room to seek council with the Valar in his prayers.


	2. Agreements and Contracts

The day was not the natural time for orcs. They preferred the dark as their vision was better suited for it. They preferred the press of stone around them and the quiet dark that caves offered. Mazoga was no different in this sense. 

Leaned up against the sleeping form of Bralfot. Enjoying the warmth that poured off him and the slow and steady rise and fall of breaths. The cave was a damp thing and roots slid between stone to grip at the ceiling of it. It was a good cave, but it was not beautiful to her eye. It lacked the straight lines and high ceilings of Gundabad. Yet, it would service her needs.

A glance towards the entrance, carefully hidden by shorn branches and leaves, to judge the spears of light sliding across the earthen floor. The sun was rising and soon she would be free of it's seeking fingers and able to find sleep. She didn't need much of it. Indeed, she could go days without with no loss on her part. A week and she would begin to feel exhaustion and even that could be staved off with a few hours snatched here and there. Weakness was not a thing she tolerated in herself. To be weak meant you would die.

Gundabad suffered no weak orc.

Slowly the shafts of light shift and creep closer to the entrance as the sun ascended. Her eyes slowly closing.

A snapping twig brought her and her warg to awareness. A glance to the entrance saw no light piercing through. Only an hour or two must have passed.

Hoof beats, slow and measured. Bralfot's head came up, ears perked and lips pulled back over impressive teeth but no sound issued forth. No growl emitting from his chest as Mazoga's hand rose to call for silence. She could hear a voice, singing off tempo and could smell pipeweed in the air.

Yet feet that wandering have gone  
Turn at last to home afar.  
Eyes that fire and sword have seen  
And horror in the halls of stone  
Look at last on meadows green  
And trees and hills they long have known.

The voice sounded older and male. She heard the nervous snort of a horse and the rider dismounting before setting himself down. She crept forward, barely even breathing as she shifted a single leaf of her cover to peer out. 

A man in grey garb and a brown horse had decided to use the clearing at the entrance of her cave as a camp. He wore a pointed hat and carried a staff. Amber eyes narrowed as she saw no other weapons. Her own lips drew up into a sneer, made more severe by her tusks.

Weighing her options when the man suddenly spoke. "What you did for them was nothing short of heroic. That little girl will live because of your actions." He continued his task of making a fire, aided by touching his fingers to the wood causing fire to suddenly spring up. Mazoga, realizing that there was no further use in the charade of hiding, pushed the branches aside and strode out into the waning sunlight.

Gandalf watched the figure. She was not what he had expected, though he was not entirely certain what he expected. She had a strange beauty to her, one that very few would ever name thus. Wild, powerful and untamed. There was beauty in those things, though unconventional.

"My name is Gandalf the Grey." 

"Bralfot." The single word summoned the massive warg from the cave. The beast came forward shoulders brushing the sides of the once hidden entrance, pale green eyes on Gandalf without straying as it loosed a low growl that sent Gandalf's horse into nervous whickers and twitching of flesh. He held out a hand and made a calming hum that set the beast back to rights. Though, it's ears lay back and eyes and nostrils wide.

Mazoga dropped a hand onto Bralfot's head and ran her fingers through the coarse fur there. "What business have you with orc kind, old man?" Her voice was rough but her Westron was good, better than many orcs ever dared hope for.

"Merely to talk, your actions on the borders of Imladris have left me with more questions than answers. I do not come empty handed. I am a wizard and have the right to offer a boon to whom I wish."

Mazoga frowned. She'd heard of wizards, most orc had. Heard that they were more than what they appeared to be. More the fool that would mistake a wizard as something easily overcome, their magic was nothing to underestimate. Eyes squinting as she watched him closer. "You want to know why I helped them." It was not a question. 

Perhaps it was the way he watched her as she spoke. Perhaps it was the lack of fear in his hunched stance. Perhaps it was the fact that he came with words and not judgment that she could perceive. She didn't know why, but she shared more than she had initially intended. "The ones who attacked them had no honor. It was my honor to see them destroyed. What is the purpose of fighting those who cannot defend themselves? Just the joy of killing and I have no more taste for that."

Gandalf sat back slowly on the log he had claimed. Letting out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Nodding his head and taking out his pipe. Lighting the bowl with the tips of his fingers as he considered. 

"The girl named you Mazoga, she spoke truly?" He nodded when she gave a grunt of affirmation. "You carry a great burden upon your shoulders. Not easily is the yoke of the Orc's Master shrugged off. If any have tried, I have not heard of them in my many years. Nor heard tale of such a thing. I wonder..."

A brow lifted as she watched him. Her smile was a bitter thing and she looked off towards the forest, surprising him again by taking a pipe from her own pack and lighting it from a stick taken off the fire. "You wonder? Have some task for me, then? Trying to bait me into agreeing for curiosity's sake?" The pipe made a clacking sound as it tapped it against a gold capped tusk.

"Yes, well..." Gandalf had the grace to appear a bit sheepish. Not many called him on such things, only good friends were so blunt with words. The orc's words may be bold, but he could see it was a sharp mind behind those strange golden eyes. "A task, perhaps. It would mean standing against many of your own kind, many who yet cling to the joy of killing." With that, he unfolded a piece of leather and tossed it towards her. She caught it and let her fingers smooth over the material. 

"Why does a wizard carry man flesh?" She turned it over to reveal the orders and read them. Looking up to Gandalf for a moment before down again. "This is a lot of gold promised for that particular dwarf's head. I know only one who would pay so high a price for it." Her snarl was soft, tossing the offending thing back to the wizards. "You mean to collect it?"

The wizard shook his head and tucked the horrid thing away. "Of course not. I, too, know who would call for such a prize. I travel now to seek him out, he must know of this and more. They will move to retake the Mountain." 

"Why are you telling me all of this, old man?" Narrowed eyes held him, suspicious. Taking a draw off her pipe as she rested an arm over the sloped shoulder of her warg. Smoke trailing from her nostrils lazily. "I could easily sell this knowledge."

"If we can convince Thorin of your hon-"

"Honor? No dwarf will take my aid. You're a fool if you think one would. Least of all this one." Mazoga interrupted without hesitation. Already getting the idea of the plans that had been formulating for some time.

His hand raised as if to soften her words to him. "His need is great and his enemies far more than even he realizes. He must retake that mountain."

"The dragon would be the least of his worries. Azog moves against him and with him? Mount Gundabad. Not to speak for any others that had received that." Gesturing to where he put the morbid missive. "It matters little the path he chooses. Any chosen route will do him no favors, he travels half the world to that mountain and between them are enemies beyond number." 

Gandalf leaned forward and held her in his gaze. There was weight behind his eyes, beyond the fragile old man he appeared to be. "Will you help him, Mazoga?"

She looked away, unable to hold such a gaze and looked to Bralfot. Who raised his head and regarded her with those intelligent eyes. She met those eyes far easier and for far longer. "He will not accept an orc. We both know this to be truth. Yet, if his need is so great?" She ruffled the fur of the warg's scruff before looking back to the wizard.

"Then I will offer him my aid."

\- - - 

"Mind if I join you?" He had a hand on his sword, two men moved with nefarious intent on his sides. He looked forward, startled at the old man who sat down and seemed to break the paths of the men. They had assumed him alone. He let free a breath as he looked at the one who put out a hand to stop the waitress, "I'll have the same."

"I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey." Thorin looked back to the wizard before he inclined his head just a bit.

"I know who you are."

"Well now," the old man seemed pensive. Almost as if he were doing his best to keep the smile he wore on his face. This did not escape Thorin's attention. "This is a fine chance." Thorin took a slow breath to steady his heightened nerves. He knew of the Staff Man, Tharkun, and had questions but such things need be tread with something more like diplomacy. 

Balin would be proud.

"What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?" Thorin looked down for a moment. The grief of his task still worn heavily on his shoulders. It had been a long night and looked to grow longer still.

Their conversation was not over long, but nor was it brief. When it came to Gandalf offering his aid in taking the Arkenstone, Thorin simply asked, "How, the Arkenstone lies half a world away buried beneath the feet of a fire-breathing dragon."

"Yes, it does. Which is why we're going to need a burglar." Gandalf barely smiled but that knowing expression proved to Thorin that the wizard had thought long on this task. "Not only that, we will need to seek out one more. A capable warrior, quite capable. I know of one who has agreed to join such an endeavor. Her skills are beyond fault. You must trust me, Thorin, in this. You will need her aid before this quest sees it's end. Do not be deceived by looks."

Thorin frowned, "A woman?" He did not like the thought of bringing a woman into a Company. It would only lead to distraction. "What do you mean by 'looks', Tharkun. I need not your riddles."

Gandalf sat back and sighed softly, looking at the stubborn King before him. "Do you doubt me, Thorin Oakenshield? You will not get far without my aid and these are my terms. We will require the aid of both of them."

The King in Exile sighed and looked down at his food, his appetite having fled. Damn this meddling old man, but he did need the help for such a task. To gain the Arkenstone, he would do what is necessary, no matter how distasteful. There was more the wizard was not telling him, shave him. He would do this the way of his people, however. 

Thorin already knew that he could count on none to follow him. He was King, but King-in-Exile. The Seven Houses of Dwarrow would only give unquestionable fealty to the one who held the King's Jewel. Which he didn't have.

"Both must sign, Gandalf, else they will not come."

"Agreed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the fated meeting of our Orc and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. I'm sure it'll go just like a jaunt along the Brandywine, eh? More like a rabbit in Mordor.
> 
> Comments are beloved, Kudos are adored, I don't know if this is something many are interested in, but I'll see it done. Thank you, everyone, who even took a moment to read this. The hit count warmed my heart daily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here. We. Go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Beta'd. 
> 
> My grammar is poor and I'm working on how things flow but...we all started somewhere, eh? 
> 
> "Common."  
> <<"Black Speech.">>

Mazoga looked at Bralfot for a few moments. They stood on an outcropping closer to the Shire than she liked. Rangers were sharp eyed and clever and she had no taste to cross their paths. She wore a cloak over her form, but there was no disguising her friend. Would they be shot down the moment they made their appearance? Not to mention that any village or town they crossed would force her to remain beneath the sky and away from the comforts of such places, not that she knew of them.

No race would ever tolerate Orc Kind, she knew that and yet she still agreed to this lunacy. Checking the pack that was tied to Bralfot's 'saddle'. The small pack was tied to one of the straps and balanced easily just above his haunches. Water, food, rope, flint and tinder, her bedroll, furs and a few herbs. Her spear was in her hands and the bow and quiver on it's place at Bralfot's side. Her sword and axes at her hip. She was ready.

She heard and smelled them before seeing them. Ponies. They would not appreciate Bralfot one bit. Their voices yet too far away to make out in their conversational tones. 

Glancing as she saw Gandalf on his horse breach the rise and called for a stop. That they would set up camp and collect their fifteenth member. Keen hearing picking up bits and pieces of their words. Mazoga was not afraid, but she was nervous. Stupid not to be. Thirteen dwarves and most of them battle tested by the looks of them, from what she could see from her hidden vantage point. Gandalf ordered the ponies tied rather than left to graze.

Smart.

She smoothly pulled herself up onto Bralfot's back and set her feet into the straps as she moved forward. The spear in her hands as they came free of the tree line. Both rider and warg painfully alert to their surroundings and neither fond of being so exposed.

Mazoga barely bit back the snarl at the warning shout and the echoing call to arms. Sinking the spear into the ground and following it with the axes and sword. It went against everything in her to disarm herself in the face of brandished weapons and angry warriors.

"Mazoga, my dear. I'm glad you were able to come." Gandalf ignored the alarmed dwarves and moved forward, a smile on his face. Bralfot moved forward with a gait similar to a horse's canter before Mazoga dismounted.

She grasped the old man's outstretched hand, her clawed fingers taking his slender forearm in greeting. Her eyes never leaving the dwarves who glared death at her. Specifically, she watched the archer who had arrow knocked and aligned with her head.

"I did not think to find so many, old man. Fourteen. Should they decide I am better foe than friend even I will be hard pressed." Her voice carried to the gathered who were now watching in shock and disgust as the wizard greeted and spoke to an orc like an old friend.

"Gandalf, what is the meaning of this affront!?" Thorin's voice bellowed and Mazoga turned her eyes to him. Bralfot growled beside her and she put a hand on his head to keep his fraying nerves settled. She could actually make out the moment the dwarf figured out that she was meant to join them by expression alone. "I will not tolerate this filth's presence, your terms be damned!" And the dwarf actually spit on the ground before him.

Gandalf closed his eyes and took a breath before turning to face a pack of very angry dwarves and one scared, yet curious Hobbit.

It was the orc behind him that brought him up, however. "Felt the need to leave out what I was? Foolish of you. I told you this would happen!" The audible 'zip' of the arrow brought a snarl to her lips, though the shaft lay buried in the ground between her feet. Her fingers drawn up into fists as she stood her ground. Bearing her teeth at the dark haired archer.

"Both of you, stop this at once!" Quiet descended on the hill and Gandalf seemed to loom large with the reveal of some power. The echo of his voice gave her an ache along her temples and a hitch in her breath. Though, she noted with some satisfaction, the dwarves were no different.

"Mazoga, if you would please remain here. I will speak to them." The orc glanced to the old man before nodding once. "Perhaps...I should take the weapons, as a sign of good faith?" Her eyes closed and she all but barked a cruel sounding laugh. 

"You seek to beard me while I stand on the edge of thirteen dwarfish blades? I imagine if I had balls you would call for them as well." She ignored the cough from the dwarf with the strange, star-shaped points of hair. It sounded suspiciously like an aborted laugh. "Fine. I'm setting a fire. I'm hungry and we rode hard to get here in time."

With that, the old wizard gathered her weapons and ascended the hill. Mazoga ignored the shouts of clear argument and started a fire. Bralfot was twitchy with nerves and the clear sight of aggressive dwarves. Mazoga merely shoved his furred shoulder lightly and got the beast's attention.

<<"No good wondering if we're safe. Thirteen orcs I could take. Dwarves are something else entirely.">> Pitching her voice low as she sat down before her fire and snapped a thick branch in half and used one broken end to spear a haunch of venison from the day before. Her features warming at the sudden press at her back as Bralfot laid down. 

His head remained up and ears focused on the hill. 

Hours passed and there seemed to be little break in the 'discussions'. Mazoga had her fire burning nicely by this point and was roasting the meat over it from her spit. What she should do is get her weapons back and she and Bralfot continue their journey West. She was certain she could find enough forest and a cave suitable enough to continue her exile. For a time. Yet, that was what prompted her to agree to all of this. 

'For a time' wasn't good enough. Eventually Azog would find her and if she wasn't killed outright, she'd be conscripted back into Gundabad's numbers. Her freedoms would be cut quite shorter than what she'd had; just another orc for the growing horde.

The sound of someone approaching got Bralfot's attention. Watching whomever it was brave enough to come to her fire. Mazoga just focused on the meat cook. "E-excuse me, miss?" The soft, timid voice had her looking over to a young dwarf wearing a rather scholarly looking robe. Well, of all the dwarves she thought that would approach, this one was the last.

"I'm curious. I th-thought orcs only ate meat raw." He finished lamely. Mazoga stayed very still as to not startle the nervous fellow. He smelled of fear and ink and paper and cardamom. 

"I can eat meat raw, if I must. I prefer it cooked." She tried to modulate her voice like she did for the girl. Softer, trying to growl less. "If you're hungry, I could carve some off for you? It's just venison." Taking the meat haunch from the fire and sniffing once before a boot knife was used to carve some of it away and she held it out towards him.

Ori stood there for a few breathless moments before carefully taking the offered meat. He even spoke a word of thanks to her as he sat. She noted he kept the fire between them and them between him and the hill. Mazoga chuckled softly at the strategic positioning. He would be able to flee quickly should the need arise.

"Go on, little dwarf, you've questions rattling behind your teeth." 

"Mister Gandalf had said that you agreed to journey with us. I was wondering why you would? I never heard of an orc siding with any race outside their own. That I know of. Of course..." All out in a single, hurried breath. They were honest questions and she took a bite of the haunch and chewed slowly as she considered the answers she would give him. He had trailed off, though she knew what was left unsaid. This was not the time or place for those such subjects.

"Orc love only killing. We've no minds of our own, only to seek out weaker races and harry them with death and fire and raids. No culture and no eye for anything beautiful. This is what all believe, aye?" She looked at him with some mirth in her amber eyes. He nodded his head, wringing his mitted hands in an attempt to calm himself. He'd not eaten the offered meat. She wasn't sure she could blame him considering what meat most of her kind favored.

"That is true for many of us, little dwarf. Not all. We're tribal, by nature. We follow strength in it's many forms. Yes, we are creatures made to kill, but not all of us do so without purpose. Yes, I kill, but only when I'm forced to or when needs must." Taking another bite. "This journey you take is to find a home that the dragon has stolen from you. I saw it once. The green stone gates. I have long wondered what it looked from within." She tore off a long strip and held it towards Bralfot, who took the offering gingerly before gulping it down. "I enjoy dwarven craft, I grew up in the halls of Gundabad. Often I wondered what it looked like before we took it."

She leaned forward slowly. "It is the same for Moria. I've walked it's halls and tried to picture it. Watched torchlight flicker across silver steel. I even looked into the waters of your Mirrormere...though my own face was clouded in the waters. Scraps of memory from a race not my own, yet we've stolen them. We have nothing like them. Just grandeur of other races' achievements made less by our hands." Her hand on the warg's head who made a low churring sound at the affectionate touch and inflection. 

"Imagine having brothers who would kill you without so much as losing a night's sleep because you dying meant more standing for them. Imagine any friend that you make had to be watched closely else they slip a dagger between your ribs the second your guard is down. It is a hard life and one I wish nothing more to do with." Mazoga sighed and watched as the scribe wrote down her words as she spoke them.

"Would you not, then, hesitate when a meddling old man tells you that there is a possibility of doing something that would allow you a moment of something like pride? That is why I agreed to come here. The story of Durin's Line is one my kind rejoice in for the horrors we have carved into it. They laughed by I don't know any of them that would challenge a dwarf. Your race is strong both in deed and martial skill. You would let nothing in this world break you down - not even Azog. Would do anything for their own. Were I not an orc, I would wish to be among such numbers. If my death can serve to get you and yours closer to such a goal, then I give it with the promise that I will take as many of my own with it."

Bralfot was unmoving. Green eyes trained on the silent shadows at the base of the hill. Though, he did not draw his Mistress' attention to them. Rather, he watched with accusing eyes the armed dwarves who listened to her story over the fire. 

\- - - 

Thorin sat at his own fire, arms perched on his knees as he replayed the orc's words in his head several times. Had this creature been of any other race, even elves, he might have reconsidered then and there. Yet, she was an orc. No good would come of this. 

"You have heard her words, Thorin Oakenshield. From a creature that should not, by our standards, exist. She killed several of her own that attacked a merchant's caravan not terribly far from here. A small girl child among them. That girl spoke of a hero that strode in and saved them, not an orc. It is my opinion that she could prove not just useful to this Company, but invaluable." Gandalf sat beside him and took out his pipe as he spoke. 

Rubbing his fingers together and producing a small flit of flame to light the pinch of pipeweed within and took a deep breath to soothe what remained of his nerves over the hours of arguing. Which wasn't much.

Thorin sighed and looked to Balin who was also listening. The older dwarf looking like he'd bitten into a bad bit of cheese. "Thorin..."

The dwarf in question shook his head. "She gets no contract. She will be entitled to nothing and we will not accommodate her in any way. Yet, she will be scrutinized for every step she takes on this path and killed if we think she has betrayed us." He stood and stormed over to his bedroll. Leaving his words echoing after him in the minds of the Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could have been worse...
> 
> Comments and Kudos are the tacos of my soul.


	4. Pariah

Rosy-fingered dawn found Mazoga with a few hours of needed sleep. She could hear the dwarves already breaking camp and she rose to her feet and sorted out what little she had. Using the straps on Bralfot's harness to tie it down. 

The sound of steel clinking had her looking towards a tall dwarf approaching her from the hill. His head was bald and his look fierce. Large axes on his back caught her eye. He eyed her warily and then the warg who remained motionless but watching. He dumped her weapons on the ground and she winced at the treatment.

"Take one wrong move, filth, and et'll be my axe buried in yer skull." Mazoga nodded her head as he stormed off. So, they would accept her, but she would be a pariah. Truth, it was better than she expected. Snorting softly as she glanced to Bralfot. 

<<"Just like old times.">>

\- - -

The ponies were nervous, but not unusually so. They had spent the night with the warg's presence close by. It helped to keep them from bolting but Mazoga made sure Bralfot did not antagonize them further. Letting the warg hunt, so she was left to keep pace with the party on foot. She didn't mind, she had a rather keen stamina and Bralfot would only be gone an hour or two. The rain felt good on her body.

There was arguing among their numbers in a language she could not understand. Their language, she assumed. Before the quiet scribe dropped back away and guided his horse close to her. It had taken him hours to distract his older brother enough to slip off once more. "Mazoga." His soft voice had her head turning towards him. 

She had been jogging along the taller embankment that ran beside the path and as the dwarf approached, she dropped down beside his pony. It's eyes went white and she made a crooning sound in her throat. "Ah, the bravest of your number." Her voice was rough, but not unkind. Her grin had the dwarf blushing. "Or should I say the most curious?" He squirmed and she continued her pace beneath the scrutiny of the Hobbit who had fallen back a few paces as well.

"Do orcs have stories? Histories?" 

Mazoga considered for a few heart beats. "No orc will praise another's deeds unless that orc is standing before them and stronger than they are. So no, we've no heroes like I have heard from your kind or men or elves. Our histories are bloodshed, not great places nor great deeds. Wars fought to take a place or kill a people. I would not speak of them as many have to do with dwarves." The scribe nodded slowly and took out his quill and book and gave her a side glance, nodding with encouragement. 

"Orcs have ever been jealous of the dwarven mountain homes. We find it pleasing to our eyes and we share a love for living beneath the earth. Yet, we've no smiths and I'm sure that you've seen the crude warping of steel for orcish weapons. We've no way of working stone or steel. So, since we cannot make, we take. Though, we are good at tunneling. Give an orc a metal shaft and dirt, stone...nothing stands before us." Ori was writing and she gave him time to finish what he was working on before he nodded to her to continue once more.

It seemed she had something of an audience in the two young brothers, she did not know their names. She did recognize the dark-haired archer, however. "I am a Gundabad Orc, born in the mountain halls crafted by your own people. I remember escaping the larger orcs by fleeing to the lower depths and staying there for weeks at a time. Imagining what once must have been beautiful but now lies in ruins save the lowest halls. Those halls have carvings, statues. I could try to draw them for you, but I've no eye for such things." Her eyes stayed on the treeline before noting the shape of Bralfot. Muzzle still streaked with some blood.

She glanced to the four that had fallen behind and then forward to see that they were being watched closely by the others. Mazoga let out a gruff sound and Bralfot dropped down from the rise onto the path they were taking. The ponies tensed, but did not break. Mazoga didn't miss a step as she was suddenly on the warg's back. Bralfot shifting into a slow gait to keep with the group. 

Reaching down and patting a heavily muscled shoulder as she felt the tension and desire to move in her friend. "Are they really so fast?" Mazoga glanced up as one of the brothers asked. The dark-haired archer and she replied with a nod. 

"You see how tense he is? It is difficult for him to move so slow. He can easily pace a horse and should I give him the command to sprint? Not even wind can catch us." She simply shook her head. "Not all Wargs enjoy their riders, though. Many orcs train them with clubs and whips. Easy to make their wargs throw the rider and flee in order to survive. Look for marks along the shoulders and back, though, do not be fooled by claw or bite marks. Wargs are often made to fight for food among their own. If you see whip marks, focus on the warg. A wounding shot is the flank or shoulder. The muscle is very dense there. Do that and the warg will throw the rider and abandon them." 

The archer looked at her with surprise and she shrugged a shoulder. "Any orc who must beat the warg doesn't deserve to be a rider. Wargs are smart, they understand. Take now, Bralfot can smell the ponies and how nervous they are. He's keeping non aggressive and staying in their view to not spook them." An ear flicked forward as the warg turned it's head to regard the archer who was looking at it more closely.

"Do wargs only let orcs ride?" That was the blonde and Mazoga paused. Considering the notion but had a hard time picturing it. 

"I don't know many races who would trust a warg to try to ride one. I suppose it is possible. It is different than a saddle." She shifted her booted feet that were hooked into one of the straps. "You have to sit behind the high shoulders to give them full movement. In a run, you must stand on the straps to not hinder the gait. Wargs throw themselves into a stride, so you must keep your balance forward. It's...I have never had to describe this before." Said roughly as she considered. 

"Nor have I ridden a horse. I could show you. Bralfot could use a good run. However, I'll not be accused of running off." Said pointedly as both brothers kicked their ponies and went ahead of the line towards Thorin. Mazoga merely glanced back to Bilbo and Ori.

"Seems a cruel way to live." The scribe offered softly and Mazoga nodded her head once in agreement.

"We do not live soft lives, but many would be cruel simply because it amuses them. It is for those orcs that I ride with you. I will have a chance to free this world of such trash." Her attention was pulled from her now smaller audience towards the front of the line where Thorin's voice reached her ears.

She couldn't make out what he was saying, but by the sudden uncomfortable shift of the scholar, she could guess it wasn't nice. The silver haired dwarf made a sound of horror and he and the star-haired dwarf quickly rode back to them. Both eyeing her with mistrust before collecting the little dwarf and riding ahead again.

Mazoga glanced to the halfling who looked torn between joining the others and staying where he was. His nose shifted as he sniffed rather like a rabbit might and held his head up. Mazoga tried not to smile at the rather endearing show of courage but failed. "What does it say for dwarves when a halfling shows more courage?" 

A few scoffs were sounded ahead and Mazoga chuckled softly. 

"I'm half a nothing, I'll have you know. You could call me Bilbo, if you like." 

The she orc merely watched him for a few moments before nodding her head once.

\- - - 

Mazoga returned from her quick hunt, a brace of rabbits at her side only to find the wizard storming past her. She did not stop to find the reason as to why. Bralfot, who was trailing after her, still licking the blood from his muzzle from the rabbits he'd caught stopped suddenly. This did give her pause.

Mazoga, ever in tune with her friend also froze and turned at the blood curdling growl the beast issued. The she-orc ignored the sound of weapons being drawn as she turned and sniffed the air before letting frowning. She moved around the warg and closer to the treeline and sniffed again before frowning and spitting to one side. "This place stinks of mountain trolls..."

And stink it was, a nauseating stench that clung to the air like death. Foulness, fetid meat and worse. "This is not a good place to stop for camp."

"Keep your beast under control, wretch." Was all but snarled at her by Thorin and she took a step forward angrily. Only to find the Company had been waiting for just such an action. Weapons hefted at her and she looked between them. 

"Let this fall on your head, Oakenshield." She growled, unwilling to fight such an impossible battle. She turned and took hold of Bralfot's harness at the neck only to find Bralfot unwilling to move. <<"Come.">> Her voice was softer and the warg huffed before turning and moving with her.

"Good riddance." She heard echoed in her wake and she let out a gusty breath. Even living among orcs was easier than this. You had to watch your back at every turn, but they at least respected strength. A glance to the still angry warg before ruffling through his scruff. She walked some distance from their camp before settling down. She wished for no fire to draw attention and so used her knife to cut away some of the still bleeding rabbit and chewed slowly.

This would end poorly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehehehe... Everyone has to end the chapter just before the Trolls, right? I read that somewhere. It's a universal fanfic rule. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always beloved.
> 
> Ah...the trolls...


	5. Parasites

Sleep had stolen over her when she'd felt the rumbling of the earth. Eyes opening to the night sky as the stench of troll was even stronger and she near gagged. Pulling herself up to her feet silently and looking to a tense Bralfot. 

<<"You must stay, only come to my whistle.">> The beast shivered in displeasure but Mazoga pressed her head to his before grabbing her axes. The forest was easy for her to navigate with her vision, though she could have gouged her eyes from her skull and still be able to follow the putrid stench that always followed Trolls.

Mazoga watched from the wood line into the clearing as the dwarves were being tied to the spit before both trolls hefted it over the fire. The other dwarves were tied into sacks and left in a pile for later. Her eyes falling on the pile of weapons and armor that would likely go to the hoard when their meal was done. This was a fate Mazoga wouldn't even wish upon her own kind. Orcs gave Mountain Trolls a bit of a wide berth. They were smarter than cave trolls, more vicious and had an appetite that could never be sated.

There was a fleeting thought to leave the ungrateful bastards to their own devices, but Mazoga couldn't quite bring herself to make the Mountain King eat these words. To watch his family scream as they cooked or had bits bitten off. Orcs were no better, she'd seen this many times before. Orcs avoided Mountain Trolls because it could just as easily be them on the menu. Yet, this wasn't an easy situation. Trolls were slow and she could take one by wit, speed and her own strength...but three? She was capable but she was not blessed by any gods, nor worthy of such a thing. 

She needed to even the odds.

Creeping forward, she grabbed some of the weapons that she'd had brandished at her more than a few times before slinking back. Making eye contact with the star-haired dwarf and putting a finger to her lips to keep him quiet as she shifted through the shadows back towards the pile of dwarves.

The closest to her was Bilbo and she reached forward before clamping a hand around his mouth. Leaning forward and whispering lowly. "I need time to free the others and you've the best wits. Stall them." The Hobbit nodded his head and she released her grasp on him before sliding back in the shadows.

It was with some glee that she did the same with Thorin, who was closest to her. His body going rigid as he glared up at her in defiance. She drew the knife from her boot and he began to struggle and she sneered. "Keep still or I will end up cutting you. Who knew trolls were good with rope?" Using a clawed finger to draw some of his hair out of her way as she slid the blade between his neck and the rope and began sawing carefully. 

Her eyes focused on her task and not noting the fact that the other dwarves and Bilbo were watching her. A glance up and then around before looking pointedly at Bilbo and gesturing to the trolls with her head. 

Bilbo began talking to the trolls and the other dwarves had shifted to keep her and Thorin from easy view. Once the rope came free, she reached behind her and took up Deathless, Thorin's blade and tucked it into the sack with him, though carefully. "Who next?" She looked down to a still wide eyed Thorin before he blinked and gestured his head to Kili. 

Shifting forward carefully, clawed hand grabbing into the sack that the young dwarf was tied into and slowly dragging him back carefully as she could. She did the same for Balin, each time tucking their weapons into their sacks when she got to Bombur.

She'd been mostly ignoring the back and forth between the trolls and Bilbo, focusing on getting the dwarves free. It was a mistake. 

"'Es right! Nuffin wrong wif a bit of raw dwarf!" 

Mazoga snarled and held onto Bombur as both were lifted. The two other trolls spotted her and shifted to attention, but the one she was now dangling over didn't realize the mistake until it was too late. She used her weight and swung herself backward, as if swinging from a branch. Her steel capped boot impacted into the troll's jaw with enough force that she felt her second toe break. Teeth went flying and she let out a bellow for the force of the kick, but Bilbo was quicker as both she and Bombur were dropped. 

"Not that one! You can see he's infected. Worms in his...tubes. It's where orcs come from, didn't you know?" Mazoga just stared at Bilbo, forced to look away to hide her choking down laughter from the trolls. "He's riddled, really." Still, laughter died quickly as the trolls were not quite that stupid.

Mazoga drew her axes and stepped over Bombur to face down the three mountain trolls. Letting out a horrible roar that even drew up the three trolls. She was ready to die here and now. "The dawn will take you all!" Mazoga looked up as the wizard topped the rise.

"Who'se tha?" "No idea." "Can we eat 'im too?"

The wizard brought his staff down and cracked the stone in half and sunlight poured into the camp. Mazoga flinched away from the bathing light only to find herself looking at the figure at her side. Thorin stood with Deathless drawn ready for combat. "Good thing for the old man. I wasn't looking forward to that." She muttered and blinked away the burns in her vision from the sudden light.

Looking back to the trolls calcifying before she dropped both axes into their cradles at her hips. Whistling once as Bralfot merely stepped into the light of the sun and she scowled. "I told you to stay." He merely laid down on the ground and huffed. 

Mazoga walked over to the spit and took hold of one end of it, not much more than a massive log perched on two y-shaped logs. Crude but effective. Muscles in her arms and back flaring as she growled for the effort and picked the spit up from one of it's stands and took a few steps to the side. It rotated the branch the other end was still wedged into, so they didn't all just drop into the fire directly. Heaving a bit before she lowered it gently as she could. 

Using her spare knife to cut the ropes and free them. Dropping down beside Bralfot once the deed was done as she worked at tugging her boot off. Unwrapping the binding that acted like a sock before her clawed toes wiggled at the air save one. She nearly started when the gray haired dwarf grabbed hold of her foot. Her knife already in hand, but stayed.

"Aye, s'broken good." Her foot held captive as she just blinked when he grabbed a bit of metal from his hip and bent it before he shifted the toe back into place and clasped it with the metal 'u' and wrapped her foot tightly with his own bandages. "Should' do th'trick." Mazoga just sat there with a stunned look on her face before Gandalf and Thorin moved next to her.

Pulling her boot back on with a grunt of thanks before standing to regard the wizard. "Mazoga, my dear. When was the last time you heard of Mountain Trolls this far south?" 

She glanced to Thorin who was watching her closely and she shook her head. "Not since they had a master to order them to be." Said with a low growl in her throat. 

"They could not have moved in daylight." Gandalf said after a meaningful glance at Mazoga. He turned as if to find where they had come from.

"There must be a cave." Thorin offered and Mazoga nodded at him.

"That way, I can smell it from here." She pointed a finger and the dwarves set off. She took a breath and looked to a smugly smiling Gandalf. Merely shaking her head and following after the Company. "I am not going into that stench. Bad enough out here and it's a ways off." Testing her stride before she moved in the direction of the horde.

\- - - 

The she-orc gagged once and made a face before lifting a bit of the fur from her shoulder to cover her mouth and nose. The dwarves seemed amused until some of them entered.

Bilbo sat down beside where she dropped to wipe some of the troll blood from her boot capping. "Yes, well, seems we both won a bit of respect there." He said with a smile and she looked at him before grinning. Only to let out a barkish laugh when he took in the expression on her face and blanched a bit.

"Seems it." 

He just forced a smile and patted her knee hesitantly. She paused at the affectionate gesture but only huffed when Bralfot settled beside Bilbo and put his massive head in the Hobbit's lap. "Ah, haha...uhm. Yes. well. Good, uh...good warg?" He nervously patted the head. Once nothing happened, Bilbo began to scratch to the warg's delight. Shifting his head to show the Hobbit where he liked to be scratched at. 

"Well, you don't seem so bad. Just you, though. Oh. What lovely...ribbons?" Mazoga snorted her laughter at the Hobbit's surprise and the ears falling back on Bralfot.

"Yes, lovely ribbons." Mazoga snickered at the warg and rose to her feet when Thorin and Dwalin exited the cave. In Thorin's hands was a sword. He drew the blade, which was glowing blue and Mazoga let out a breath.

<<"Biter.">> She said and glanced to the dwarf looking at her curiously at her use of Black Speech. "Orcrist. We call it the Biter." She answered his question. "That's a blade to fear, if you're of my kind. Good that you have it." She offered when Bralfot let out a growl from beside Bilbo and Gandalf. Mazoga turned her head as the sounds of something moving at speed approached.

"Something is coming!" Mazoga pulled her spear around as the dwarves rallied behind their King. A glance to Bralfot put the beast beside the Hobbit, lips pulled up but not yet growling. She faced off, teeth drawn back in a display of ferocity when the biggest damn rabbits she'd ever seen burst through the brush.

"Thieves! Fire! Murder! Oh! An orc!" Her eyes went wide as she took in the sight of a man being pulled on a sled with a staff like Gandalf. 

"Is that bird shit on his face?" She asked with a scoff. The answering laugh from Nori and Bofur sounded and she fell back away from the group. Upon hearing that it was another wizard, she took hold of the strap at Bralfot's shoulder. He was eyeing the massive rabbits that were eyeing him right back.

"Miss Mazoga?" Her head turned to the massive dwarf that walked up to her, surprised at how light the big dwarf stepped as she nodded her head to him for him to continue. "Just wanted t'say that I was thankful for you kickin' that troll what wanted to eat me." 

Mazoga just blinked a few times before she inclined her head. "I am not part of this Company, you do not need to thank me." Her words spoken carefully as she thought of them. Bombur drew himself up at her words and she expected that to be the end of it.

"It matters not to me that you signed the contract or that you're an orc. Put yer neck out for me and I'll thank you for it." His chest expanded as he spoke with pride and Mazoga found herself nodding her head, accepting the first words of true thanks that she could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update, the holidays are always such a mad rush and I'm certainly no exception to that rule.


End file.
